


Collateral Damage

by pinksnowboots



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Kings & Queens, M/M, Minor Violence, Near Future, Nohr, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Really Character Death, Post-Canon, Revelations Route, Revelations timeline with mild tweaks, Temporary Character Death, background Camilla/both retainers, background Kagero/Orochi, background Leo/Niles/Odin - Freeform, background Ryoma/Saizo, not directly non-linear but it's not the most linear thing i've written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:50:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10026629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksnowboots/pseuds/pinksnowboots
Summary: Xander does not realize the depths of his feelings for Laslow until it is too late.Fic for @dorkpatroller for the Xanlow Fic Exchange 2017 for the prompt "I thought you were dead"





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's taken a long time, but I've finally gotten it done! Thanks so much to @dorkpatroller for organizing this fic exchange and for the wonderful prompts! I really hope that you enjoy it (even though a lot of it is pretty Xander focused and it got much longer than I intended). 
> 
>  
> 
> I don't remember if there's anything I need to mention for the fic to make sense. Let's see...I took a few liberties with character details that were either not specified or I didn't remember, and this fic takes place in the Revelations path of Fates, so all the royals make it out alive.

 

_“If, after the war, I were to go somewhere. Somewhere far away... If you never saw me again... Would you be angry? Would you be able to forgive me for abandoning you?”_

_“...Yes. I would.”_

Xander had never expected Laslow to stay with him forever, had been prepared to lose him someday.

_“Oh? Truly?”_

_“It is not your company I require. Only that you continue to draw breath. I just want you to ensure you live. Whatever your true name or appearance.”_

What he had not prepared for was losing Laslow, not to a happy life in another world, but to a lonely death of the fields of battle.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Xander had long since become inured to the thought of killing, even killing people who in all likelihood had done nothing but wrong except being in an army that wasn’t Nohr’s. It was part of his job as a prince and a warrior, and he found neither delight not sorrow in the deaths of the men and women he struck down with his sword.

He barely registered the bite of his sword into flesh until he came upon the sniper who may or may not have killed Laslow. Before he brings Seigfried down, Xander makes eye contact with the man, who looks small and powerless under Xander’s imposing figure. He sees terror in the man’s eyes, but behind the fear he is sure he sees recognition, which Xander takes as acknowledgement that this is the man who, with one arrow, cut off his right hand and a piece of his heart.

It’s very possible that this is not the man who shot Laslow, that the fearful recognition in his eyes is simply terror at facing the man who has been fighting as if possessed, following in the wake of a woman who is all the more dangerous because she is not possessed.

But there is no doubt in Xander’s mind that this is the man, or at least there would be no doubt if there was anything in Xander’s mind other than waves of wordless emotions, raw and overwhelming.

The sniper had only shot Laslow once, but Xander strikes him, two, three, ten times, every thunk of blade into the already-dead man’s flesh a cry of rage.

He keeps stabbing, hacking, slashing until he feels a hand on his shoulder and Camilla’s voice.

“Xander. It’s over. He’s dead.” Xander is not sure if she’s talking about Laslow or the sniper but either way she is right, he is the prince of Nohr and right now he is covered in blood and…oh, is he crying? With a note of curiosity as if this mourning prince is someone other than himself, Xander realizes that he is weeping.

The news has obviously spread to the rest of the group. Peri is bawling, the type of tears that are loud and uncomfortable for both the cryer and everyone around them. Corrin looks pained; he has worked so hard thus far to keep from losing a single member of their army and now…now they’ve lost one, and even though it’s not Corrin’s fault, the burden lays heavily on him. It’s frankly miraculous that it’s taken this long for them to see their first casualty. It was only a matter of time, but Xander wishes that Laslow had not been the one taken.

Elise throws herself at him, clinging to him as her tears mix with the blood on his armor. Laslow had been well-loved by most of the group, in spite of-or perhaps because of-his incessant flirting.

Everything since Laslow fell has seemed like a bad dream, but what drives it home that this is his reality is seeing Odin standing frozen, looking shell-shocked and for the first time ever, completely silent.

Several other members of the army are clustered into groups, crying or murmuring and looking nervously at Xander, uncomfortable with his lack of composure.

Elise’s clinging arms bring him back to earth, ground him in the reality that he is there even if Laslow is not and there is an army of people who look to him for guidance.

Xander takes a deep breath, tightens his arm around Elise, and speaks.

“Remember,” he says, voice frustratingly hoarse. “We are still at war, and in war, sacrifices are inevitable. Laslow is not the first soldier, retainer, or friend that I have lost.”

Xander’s voice breaks, along with his heart, but he soldiers on. “He is not the first, but gods willing, he will be the last. Laslow fought for the same reason we all fight: for peace in Nohr, in Hoshido, in Cyrkensia, in Valla, in every corner of the continent. I for one will be fighting all the harder to honor Laslow’s sacrifice, and I hope you all will do the same.”

Xander inhales, a deep, shuddering breath. “There will be time later,” he exhales, breath flowing out of him like tears, “for grieving. But for now, we must continue on, and right now, we need to make camp so everyone can sleep.”

Xander feels exhaustion seeping into his bones and he casts a pleading glance at Corrin and Ryoma. Luckily they understand, and they start to gather everyone up, Ryoma rallying the Hoshidans and Corrin rallying everyone else as Xander tries his hardest to remain upright.

As they set up camp, more somberly than they ever have before, Ryoma comes over and clasps him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He says, kind without being overly emotional in the way that Xander hates. “I did not know Laslow well, but I know that if I lost one of my retainers, I would be beside myself.”

“Well, it’s not my first time losing a retainer, I’m almost an expert by now.” Xander smiles mirthless my. “I hope it is not something you ever have to experience.”

“And I hope this is the last time for you.” Ryoma squeezes his shoulder and leaves, and Xander is thankful, both for the comfort and for the fact that Ryoma did not try to linger.

Xander retreats to his tent and shuts the door. He had Laslow’s personal belongings brought to him; right now, they’re sitting in the corner of the tent, calling to him.

But still, he hesitates. Laslow claimed to wear his hear on his sleeve, but he kept his secrets close and had a surprising number of them. Even though Xander longed to know exactly where Laslow came from, why he had a unique accent and even more unique style of swordplay, he did not ask. Laslow’s job was to support him, protect him, and stay by his side; unlike some royals, Xander had no illusions that his retainers belonged to him, body and mind.

If he looked through Laslow’s belongings, it would feel final; Laslow would truly be gone. But that was only irrational sentimentality. Death is already final, and Laslow is not here to be angry with him.

Compared to his comparisons, Laslow has very few belongings. Odin is a hoarder, of weapons and assorted miscellany; he names everything and once it is named, he refuses to part with it. Selena is a compulsive shopper, spending her entire salary on clothes and knick-knacks from every tiny town and major city they pass through.

( _“I have to buy it.” She insists. “I need a souvenir to remember this place by.”_

_“My darling, you don’t need to buy half the continent. If you’re that worried about forgetting, I’ll bring you back here after this dreadful war is over.” Camilla promises, laughing._

_“Oh, yes…” Selena’s face suddenly darkens. “After the war…”_ )

Laslow’s cloths are the first thing he finds, and well, if he thought this was going to be quick, he was dead wrong. Every piece of clothing smells like Laslow, who always smells of the cologne he wears too much of-rich, spicy, and entirely too aggressive for Nohrian tastes. Xander had always told him that he needed to wear less because he smelled like the inside of a soothsayer’s tent, but now he buries his face in the shirt in his hands and closes his eyes, tries to clear his mind enough that for a moment, he can pretend that Laslow isn’t gone.

A small bottle falls out of the shirt he’s holding, and Xander can’t help laughing. Laslow always brought small bottles of cologne and hair gel with him, even on long military missions.

( _“A ladies man must always be prepared, milord.” Laslow had said in response to Xander’s incredulous look at his packed belongings. “As with any skill, flirting must be practiced constantly. Do you know what it would do for my reputation if I were to be caught looking ungroomed?”_

_“I wish you put half as much energy into training as you do into flirting.” Xander sighed, knowing this was an argument he would never win. “It doesn’t matter how nice you look if you die in battle.”_

_“I have no intention of dying, in battle or otherwise.” Laslow assures him. “I would never break the hearts of the lovely ladies of Nohr by dying.”_

_“Or me, Laslow.” Xander reminds him. “Strange as you are, I would be very upset if you were to die.”_

_“Of course, milord.” Laslow replies, voice almost imperceptibly rougher. “I have no desire to break your heart either.”_

_It does not sound like a joke and Xander does not treat it as one. “Then don’t, Laslow.”_ )

Xander dabs a bit of what he thinks is Laslow’s cologne on his wrist, furrows his brow when it stains his skin grey.

He inspects the bottle and sniffs his wrist, concluding that this is most definitely not cologne, but the color of grey is familiar somehow. Suddenly a familiar picture of Laslow laughing at him, too merry to be truly insolent, pops into his head and he realizes why the color is familiar.

“Hair dye.” He breathes. “Laslow, you fiend. What else were you hiding from me?”

He’s always suspected that Laslow had woven his personality together from a combination of innocuous truths, necessary lies, and half-lies that later turned into truths. Laslow is a terrible liar, but a fantastic secret keeper. Xander could always tell when Laslow is lying, but could never intimidate, wheedle, or pry the truth out of him.

Going through Laslow’s things suddenly becomes much more urgent, and Xander resolves to devote his whole evening to it. And if he happens to cry a little, in an entirely unprincely fashion, well, at least no one will be around to see it.

Laslow’s clothes are almost as colorful as Laslow himself, and it takes a long time to go through them because everything Xander picks up overwhelms him with memories.

This is Laslow’s favorite shirt, the one looks like a puffy quilt strapped around the body with two leather strips.

_(“I just don’t understand it.” Xander says, staring at Laslow’s shirt like its a puzzle to solve._

_“I’m disappointed, milord.” Laslow feigns shock. “I was told that you were fashionable for a crown prince, but you don’t even appreciate the style of shirt that’s all the rage in my hometown.”_

_“I’m not saying it’s not fashionable, I’m saying it makes you look like a puff pastry.”_

_Laslow smiles crookedly, cocks one eyebrow. “Milord, are you saying that I look…delectable?”_

_Xander snorts, “If that is the kind of line you use on the village ladies, I can see why you get rejected so often.”_ )

And this is the formal shirt in Nohrian style that Xander had given him to wear to formal functions. Why Laslow brought it with him to Valla is beyond him, since Laslow always complained about having to wear it.

( _“Do I really have to wear this?” Laslow looks personally offended by the garment in his hand._

_“Only for meetings with the King, formal dinners, things like that.” Laslow looks like he’s about to protest, but Xander cuts him off. “You already barely act like a proper royal retainer and I usually don’t make so. Could you please do this one thing for me?”_

_Laslow sighs, grudgingly acquiescing. “But it’s so dowdy! What will it to to my reputation as a ladykiller?”_

_“Trust me, that shirt could not hurt your reputation any more than your pickup lines already have. Stop being such a dandy.”_

_“Says the man who wears a frilly cravat into battle.” Laslow retorts._ )

And this is…an outfit that Xander has never seen before. It’s made of light gauzy fabric and looks vaguely similar to a Cyrkensian dancer’s outfit, if they made Cyrkensian dancers outfits for men. The clothes themselves are simple; light, loose black pants mad of silky, almost translucent material and a black vest with intricate gold embroidery around the edges. Packed in a box underneath are a number of accessories, all in gold: wristbands and anklets, a slender belt, a pair of hoops with large spikes running along the edge connected by a length of fabric, a heavy looking necklace, and a single hoop earring. 

Xander tries to picture Laslow wearing the outfit, but cannot get a clear picture in his mind. If he focuses, he can imagine the pieces: the vest, the belt, the wristbands. But when he tries to put everything together, the image slips away, and a fresh wave of grief hits him when he realizes that Laslow is gone and he  will never get the chance to piece together the full image.

He quickly packs everything away, except for the hoop earring, which he tucks into his breast pocket. Xander had told Ryoma that he was almost an expert at losing retainers, and while it wasn’t quite at that level, he had developed a few rituals to honor his fallen retainers, one of which was wearing a token of theirs on a cord around his neck. 

At present, he only had two; a ring, and a charm. 

The ring was the family crest of one of his first retainers, who had been the only child of a prominent family. His family had hoped his appointment as Xander’s retainer would ensure the legacy of their family name; instead, the line had ended with him on a barren field just shy of the Hoshidan border. Xander feels the weight of it always, lying flush on the skin above his heart, heavy with the weight of generations that will never be born.

The charm is a small flat stone, washed smooth by the river where his second retainer had collected it when she was a child. She had etched symbols into both sides, symbols for protection and longevity that she had been taught by her grandmother, who had been a mystic and a healer. The charm had not done its job, had not protected her, and Xander wears it now, not for protection, but for remembrance.

Tomorrow, he resolves, he will find a string somewhere around camp, and Laslow’s earring will join the other tokens, the third and, gods willing, the last tribute necklace that Xander has to make.

Heart heavy and eyes damp, he continues to look through Laslow’s things, taking time to run his hands over every object, as if he can soak up any residual traces of Laslow left from the last time he touched them. It is painful, and he considers putting Laslow’s belongings aside, but the prospect of not having a task to focus his attention on is terrifying, so he does not.

As he continues his inspection, Xander turns away several  visitors: first Camilla with her smothering comfort, then Corrin with his quiet pity. He sends Elise away as well, but eats the food she brings because he has no wish to make her cry any more today. Leo, bless him, seems to understand that Xander wants to be alone because he does not come try to comfort him. Peri, Elise tells him, insisted on joining the hunting party that caught their dinner and is now insisting on personally butchering all the animals that will be their breakfast.

The day passes without him noticing, and evening finds him thumbing through a leather notebook filled with words in Laslow’s handwriting but in a script that Xander has never seen before when he hears someone calling “Knock knock!” from behind the flap of his tent. Knocking before entering is a Nohrian custom, but it only works if there is a door to knock on. At tents, most normal people simply announce themselves and ask to be let in.

He yanks the flap back, ready to snap at whoever it is, because his heartstrings are pulled taught like a bowstring and tear ducts are sore from overexertion and he has already been interrupted too many times by people who don’t understand that he’s too proud to be vulnerable around other people so he’d rather grieve alone.

Xander is surprised enough to see Odin there that he forgets to yell at him, although in retrospect, it explains the strange greeting. Odin is quite a sight, hair wild and eyes red, holding a bottle of liquor in one hand and wearing what appears to be Niles’ cloak.

“Ah, Milord! Pardon the interruption, but I have spent the afternoon grieving my fallen comrade and after my eyes had run dry of manly tears, I realized that as Laslow’s liege, your sense of loss may be overwhelming. As Laslow’s bosom companion, I have come offering companionship.” Odin says, never one to speak briefly when a speech is possible.

Odin’s voice, like his appearance, is slightly off. “And liquor!” He adds, raising the bottle and his voice. “Let us drown our sorrows in the sweet embrace of intoxication!”

Xander pulls him inside, suspecting that Odin may already be in the embrace of intoxication. Normally he would send him back to Leo to deal with, but Odin is probably the only other person who feels the loss of Laslow as keenly as he does, if not more.

Odin collapses ungracefully to the floor by Xander’s hearthstone and sheds his cloak to reveal yet another cloak, one that looks a lot like one of his brother’s.

“Odin, is that Leo’s cloak?”

Odin inspects the cloak as if he is surprised to find himself wearing it. “Ah, indeed it is! Milord Leo is such a noble master, the only one that the great Odin Dark could ever call his liege. He insisted that I wear it, so I don’t 'Catch my death wandering around half naked in the cold like the idiot that I am.’”

“Yes, that sounds like Leo.” Xander sighs. “Well, alright then. Let me join you in...the bosom of lady liquor, or whatever it is you said.”

“Milord, there’s hope for you yet as a wordsmith!” Odin passes him the bottle and Xander drinks deeply. In general, he prefers wine or not to drink at all, but the burn of the liquor feels appropriate.

Odin, meanwhile, is inspecting the cloak that he took off when he first entered the tent, looking confused. “When did I get two cloaks?”

“You came in wearing them both.” Xander reminds him.

“Ah yes!” Odin exclaims, remembering. “Niles made me take his cloak as well because we’ve already lost one retainer today and he doesn’t feel like losing another to something as banal as the cold. A noble gesture, but today Odin Dark’s heart is so cold from grief that the freezing wind cannot make it any colder.”

“I didn’t take Niles for the caretaking type.” Xander comments, deliberately putting off talking about Laslow until he is a little drunker.

“Most people don’t, but I have discovered his hidden potential! Behind his wicked tongue beats a chivalrous and noble heart.” Odin reaches for the bottle, takes a long swig, and returns it to Xander. “Although that is not to say that his wicked tongue does not have it’s uses.”

Xander does not drink very often, and his head is starting to feel slightly light, which he thinks it is time to bring up Laslow.

“Not that I am not grateful for...Lady Liquor here, Odin, but I am curious why you came to me. Why not seek the comfort of Leo and Niles, whom I understand you have an...intimate relationship with?” Xander finds himself asking.

Ok, perhaps it is _almost_  time to bring up Laslow. He wants desperately to talk about Laslow, but is also desperately scared, and Odin’s strange relationships are a much safer topic.

“My bond with Milord Leo and Niles is indeed a bond for the ages, a bond that the bards will surely sing about for eons to come, a bond that is consummated in spirit, mind, and yes, in body.” Odin flushes a deeper red. “But how did you come to know about our bond?”

“Laslow read your diary.” Xander replies easily, seeing no reason to lie as Laslow is not here to get angry with him.

“Laslow, you dastard!” Odin exclaims, much louder than is appropriate. “You beautiful, noble dastard.” Odin’s breath hitches as he chokes back a sob. “I cannot believe that he is gone.”

“I cannot either.” Xander says.

They sit in silence for several moments, passing the bottle back and forth until Xander finds it empty. He peers inside it, as if he can will more drink into being with his gaze, and Odin pulls another bottle out of his robe.

“I chose to come to you,” Odin says, passing Xander the fresh bottle. “Because you are the only other person in this world who loved Laslow as much as I did.”

“Mmm.” Xander says nothing, because he has never thought of it in those terms, but he supposes that it is true. 

They drink in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it is almost empty. Xander feels lightheaded, feels sleepy, feels like he’s not quite here, which is preferable to being here, because Laslow is not here. He picks up the handwritten notebook he was looking at earlier and flips through it idly, staring at the words he cannot read.

Odin’s eyes flicker towards the movement of Xander’s hands, grow wide when they land upon the book that Xander is holding. 

“Is that Inigo’s diary?” He exclaims, speech just on the edge of slurring.

“Who is Inigo?” Xander asks in reply, confused.

Odin face morphs into a look of panic. “Oh, Inigo is...Inigo is a character in a book! The book is called...Inigo’s Diary! It was Laslow’s favorite book from our childhood.” 

It’s a truly terrible lie, but Odin looks pleased.

“Odin.” Xander says, not having any of it. “Was Laslow’s real name Inigo?”

Odin’s pleased expression falls away, face pale. “Why would you ask that?”

“Laslow once told me that he bears a false name and a false appearance.” Xander fixes Odin with the stern look he adopts when he’s acting as Xander, Prince of Nohr and he wants to be obeyed. “I’ll ask again. Is Inigo Laslow’s true name?”

The look seems to work, because Odin sighs and gives in. “Yes.”

“Inigo.” Xander repeats, testing the name out, feeling it on his tongue. “Inigo. Laslow. Inigo.”

The name is strange to his ears and on his lips, but it feels true, and another piece slots into place in the puzzle that is Laslow.

“Inigo of the Indigo Skies.” Odin says, voice sounding far away. “The false name thing really messed me up. Laslow of the Indigo Skies really doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“You could try Laslow of the Azure Skies.” Xander suggests, lightheaded from the alcohol and the revelations. 

“I did.” Odin laughs bitterly. “But he didn’t like it. Said he preferred Indigo Skies.”

“Wait, did Laslow-” Xander stops himself, confused over which name to use, “Did Inigo really change his appearance when he came here?”

Odin snorts. “Inigo is a silver-tongued scoundrel. His claims of a false appearance are greatly over-exaggerated. All he did was dye his hair.”

“I know,” Xander says. “I found his hair dye.”

“Of course you did. I can tell that you found his cologne as well.” 

Xander flushes. He may have dabbed a little bit of Laslow’s cologne on his neck earlier, after making sure that this time, it was really cologne. He also may have teared up a little bit when the scent first his his nose, but Odin didn’t need to know that.

“So what color was Laslow’s hair originally?” Xander asks, changing the subject.

“I’m not sure I should tell you.” Odin says.

“What if I ordered you to tell me as the Crown Prince of Nohr?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not a citizen of Nohr.”

“No, but you are fucking the younger prince of Nohr, and I think that makes you close enough.”

Odin’s mouth, already open for a retort, snaps shut, teeth clicking audibly. “I think,” He says, swaying gently. “I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

“I think we both have.” Xander agrees, trying not to slur his words. “Anyway, I think I’ve lost the bottle.”

“It’s gone?” Odin exclaims. “How can it be gone when it was just here moments ago?”

Xander thinks that he could say the same thing about Laslow, and when he meets Odin’s eyes, he knows that they’re thinking about the same person.

“Pink.” Odin says. “Inigo’s hair was pink, like his mother’s.”

“That would suit him.” Xander says, trying to picture it.

“It did.” 

“Odin, would you tell me more about Laslow? About Inigo?” Xander asks.

“I would be honored to share that information with you, milord. But only,” Odin shakes his finger at Xander. “On one condition.”

“What is that?” Xander asks, looking at Odin’s finger rather than his eyes.

“Entrust to me the care and keeping of the sacred keepsake that you hold in your princely hands.” When Xander looks confused, Odin adds, “Give me Inigo’s diary. You can’t read it anyway, it’s in our native language.”

Xander considers the offer. “If I give it to you, will you tell me what he wrote in it?”

"Odin Dark can make no promises as to that. I cannot betray the confidence of a man who was closer to me than a brother.” Odin says. “However, I will share my stories of the exploits of Odin Dark and Inigo of the Indigo Skies.”

Xander considers arguing, but thinks better of it, passes the book to Odin. Laslow had his secrets in life, and he deserves to have them in death. Besides, Odin is right; he cannot read the diary and keeping the knowledge from Odin, who could read it, would be cruel. 

Odin’s face light up when Xander gives him the book, and he immediately begins flipping through it, glancing at page after page. His face is nothing but raw emotion, pain and love and nostalgia wrapped up into one.

“No matter what world we were in, or what evils we faced.” Odin says quietly, looking at the book. “Inigo was the one person who was always by my side.”

Xander does not know how to respond to that, but he is saved from thinking of a response by a voice outside his tent.

“Brother.” He hears Leo saying, voice weary. “I’ve come to collect my retainer. I hope he hasn’t been a bother to you.”

Xander opens the tent flap to find Leo and Niles, standing outside. 

“Not at all, Leo.” Xander assures him. “In fact, he’s been quite a comfort. We’ve been...bonding.”

“If by bonding you mean drinking, then I can tell.” Niles remarks, looking past Xander.

Leo give Niles a look and Niles clarifies, “I’m talking about Odin, not about your noble brother.”

As if on cue, Odin all but throws himself at Leo, who looks embarrassed at the fact that his older brother is seeing such a display of affection. 

Xander, for his part, finds it sweet, although it does send a pang of loneliness through him to see his brother together with his two retainers when Xander himself has had that privilege wrenched away from him.

“Odin, didn’t you have two cloaks when you left?” Niles asks Odin.  

“Odin Dark does not remember such trivial things as the whereabouts of garments!”

“Of course you wouldn’t, you barely wear clothes anyway.” Niles mutters. “Prince Xander, could I trouble you to look for an extra cloak in your tent? It happens to be mine, and this wretch is obviously not going to return it to me.”

“Of course.” Xander retrieves the cloak for Niles, who, for all his grumbling, immediately wraps Odin in it. Xander has never quite understood Niles, never understood his personality or why on earth his straitlaced brother had chosen a petty thief as his retainer, but Niles’ devotion to Leo had convinced Xander of the soundness of his morals, and his tenderness towards Odin only confirmed his impression. 

“Thank you for keeping me company, Odin Dark.” Xander says. “I hope that we can do this again in better circumstances.”

Odin gives a vague hand wave of affirmation, either drunker than Xander realized or acting drunker in the company of Leo and Niles. “Likewise, Prince Xander.” Odin says, slurring his words significantly more than he had minutes earlier.

“I think we need to get him to bed.” Leo says, looking at Odin with exasperation and barely concealed fondness before turning a concerned gaze to Xander. “Will you be alright being alone, Xander?”

“Yes.” Xander says, and he hopes that it is the truth. “Thank you, brother. Goodnight.”

He closes the door before Leo can insist that he needs company, and listens to their footsteps as they walk away. He can hear their voices mingling, Odin’s loud and emphatic, Niles’ smooth and dryly amused, Leo’s warm and level. Images of himself listening indulgently to Peri and Laslow’s chatter spring unbidden into his mind, and he can feel the tug of longing in his chest like a physical pain. He has never given much thought to his siblings’ retainers before beyond observing them to ensure that they will do their job adequately, but he hopes now that Leo appreciates what a gift it is to have both Odin and Niles by his side.

Xander finds the bottle he’d hidden from Odin, downs the rest of it in three gulps, and falls asleep in his clothes.

His sleep is restless and his dreams are chilling. He finds himself on the edge of a cliff, with Laslow hanging on to the edge, about to fall if not for the grip of his fingertips.

“Laslow, take my hand!” Dream-Xander calls, voice desperate, hand outstretched.

Dream-Laslow looks at him, amazingly unafraid for someone about to fall off a cliff.

“That’s not my name.” He says, and lets go, disappearing into the void.

Xander wakes with a start, covered in sweat. He’s had these dreams before, about Laslow or Peri or one of his siblings dying, but this one is worse because when he wakes up, Laslow is still gone, this time for good.

It is still dark outside and will be for many hours, but Xander does not go back to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Xander has lost retainers before, but it does not mean he is good at dealing with grief. After the loss of his first retainers, he had sworn to never lose another retainer in a fit of naive passion, and his grief at the loss of Laslow intermingles with anger at himself for letting it happen.

His earlier losses did teach him that a prince does not have the luxury of experiencing grief in slow, healthy stages that lead to healing, and he does not try. Rather, he experiences all of the stages at once and his grief settles into his bones and festers like an open wound throughout the rest of the war.

Frankly, Xander does not remember many specifics from the rest of their struggle against Anankos. He knows that they won, and he knows that they won partially because of him, and partially in spite of him. As Leo tells it, he and Peri tended to clear half a battlefield in a matter of moments, and then the rest of the army had to catch up to them before they were overwhelmed by the other half of the enemy forces. Xander is not proud of his actions or of the fact that his rashness endangered his family and comrades, but the rush of battle drowned out everything else, drowned out his pain and grief and his guilt, as well as any curiosity about the revelations that they uncovered along the way.

Off the battlefield, Corrin assures him, he carried himself with dignity and led as well as he could be expected to, considering the circumstances. Xander reflects that they are lucky that being a leader had been beaten into him from a young age enough that he could do it on autopilot, and if he faltered he had Ryoma and Corrin to step up and support him. 

In the moment, every day had been a struggle, but looking back, he does not recall almost any moment between Laslow’s death and his own coronation with any sort of clarity. It is a shameful admission, but grief had made him remiss in his duty, his focus brought back only by the cold weight of his father’s crown on his head. It is ugly and ill-fitting, but it reminds him that he has a country to lead and cannot continue to limp through life like a wounded dog. 

Bit by bit, Xander returns to the world of the living. Being the king is strange, although it is a role he has been preparing for since birth. And it keeps him busy; there are political advisers to meet, citizen requests to hear, diplomats to impress, soldiers to lead, and that is just the beginning. He thought that he was prepared, but suddenly every single person in the country of Nohr is depending on him, and he feels the responsibility keenly.

On occasions he is not surprised that his father went crazy after years on the throne. 

Xander is well suited for the role, but he cannot say that he enjoys it. As a child Xander had resented the restrictions that being a prince had put on his life and freedom, but that was nothing compared to the life of a king. The sudden war and even more sudden peace with Hoshido in addition to Garon’s death had destabilized Nohr. Within less than a year of assuming the throne, he finds ihimself facing countless attacks on his character and right to the throne, two assassination attempts, one attempted coup, three small and one not-so-small peasant uprisings, and several small raids by their neighbors to the north.

At times, Xander longs to return to the time before Corrin was kidnapped by Nohr, before it had become evident that his father was not his father (but not too much earlier, not before Laslow, Odin, and Selena had appeared at court). But these times always pass, eclipsed by fifty different pressing issues, and Xander bears his burden stoicly and patiently.

_“Xander, you’re too stressed.” Camilla tells him. “You’re strong, but even strong men have their limits. You need an outlet or I’m afraid you’re going to explode.”_

_“It’s fine, Camilla. I have an outlet.”_

_Camilla looks at him skeptically. “Who?” She asks, voice dripping with disbelief._

_“What? No one.” Xander furrows his brow. “Wait, when you said outlet, you meant…sexually?”_

_Camilla looks at him like he is the stupidest person she’s ever met. To be fair, he might be. “Of course. I have Beruka and- I have Beruka. Leo has both his retainers. You had Laslow.”_

_“Laslow? No, Laslow wasn’t…we weren’t…” Xander struggles to find the words, unable to give voice to what she is implying. “Laslow liked women.”_

_Camilla rolls her eyes. “So does Leo, and he’s fucking both his retainers.”_

_“Does everybody know about that?”_

_“Everyone who’s looking. So not many. Don’t change the subject Xander, I’m even more concerned now. You’re under more stress than ever before and you have nowhere to release it.” She pats his shoulder like she used to do when they were children. “Think about it, brother.”_

Xander does think about it, thinks about it and dismisses it. Sex just seems unappealing, and from a political standpoint, dangerous. A king is expected to have mistresses, but he is also expected to have a wife first, and although being king of Nohr has dictated every part of his life, he is not willing to give it that.

It is different for Leo and Camilla because they were not the king. Besides, their lovers are also their retainers, whose loyalty is first to them, then to Nohr, even if it was supposed to be the other way around. Perhaps if he had wanted to take Peri to bed, it would be acceptable, but neither he nor Peri found that idea appealing, Xander uninterested in women and Peri uninterested in activities that did not end in death.

If Laslow were still alive, then perhaps…

The thought occurrs to him often, and every time he pushes it aside. There is no use speculating about what might have been. Besides, he would not have been satisfied with having Laslow as an illicit lover, would want him as a partner in all things, and with Xander’s kingship and Laslow’s plans to return home to another world, that simply could not happen.

 

* * *

 

Xander may not have a lover to help him release his tension, but he has adapted to constantly being tense, and he copes in other ways. 

When there are no military operations for him to head, he trains with Peri, using real weapons and real force until someone draws blood, at which point he knocks her sword to the ground in order to save them both. Peri has always fought like a woman possessed, and after she draws blood, she cannot be held responsible for following through to its logical conclusion.

Xander has no desire to die at her hands, so as soon as someone bleeds they trade their real weapons for wooden practice swords and alternate sparring and decimating training dummies until their muscles ache. 

Sometimes after training, Peri will cry and Xander will hold her, her tears mingling with their sweat and occasionally, blood. 

“It’s not fair!” She blubbers, and Xander understands who she is talking about, agrees wholeheartedly. 

Xander never asks Peri to be quiet or to stop crying, simply lets her wail until she has no more tears to cry. He himself does not cry around others, only in his own rooms and even then rarely. It is not that he does not want to cry, but rather that he feels that he is wound so tightly that if he lets himself go, even just a little bit, he may unravel completely, falling to the floor in teardop-shaped pieces until all that is left is a puddle.

When he feels like crying, over Laslow or over the stress of his position or both, he invites Odin to his chambers and they drink together and talk about Laslow. Xander calls him Laslow and Odin calls him Inigo, and they share stories of his exploits and laugh instead of crying.

Before Laslow’s death, Xander and Odin had not been close, but their shared loss had created a strong bond between them. It grows stronger when one day Selena disappears from court and does not return, even after Camilla and Beruka take to the skies to try to retrieve her. Camilla is inconsolable and Beruka is silent as always, but her silence is one of sadness and rage. 

Odin is not angry, but Selena’s departure gives rise to new lines along his forehead and around his eyes, evidence of brows furrowed in worry or discontent.

“ _The passage to this world was opened to us by a powerful sage from our world.” Odin explains, too tired for flowery speech. “He said that the process was taxing for him, and he could only do it twice. Once for us to leave, and once to return. He gave us a charm that would let us signal him to let him know when to reopen the portal. Selena kept it, because she did not trust us. Whether she didn’t trust us not to use it to leave her behind or not to die and lose it, she never said.”_

“ _Yesterday, she told me that she was going home, asked if I was coming with her. I told her that I was not ready, asked her to wait.” Odin continues, pursing his lips. “She refused, told me that she was not going to wait until one of us is killed in this world like Laslow was. There were...harsh words exchanged, and it appears that she chose to leave without me.”_

_“Where is she going?” Xander asks. He does not want Odin to leave him too, but he cannot wish anyone trapped in a world they did not chose. “Could you catch up to her before she returns?”  
_

_“The place where the portal will open is a long way from here, but she had a head start.” Odin shakes his head. “Besides, I think we both knew that I didn’t really want to leave.”  
_

Selena’s departure has a ripple effect, and for a time Camilla and Leo barely speak, Camilla unable to forgive Leo for Selena leaving her while Odin stayed. Odin, for his part, visits Xander even more often. With Selena gone and Laslow dead, Xander is the only person who Odin can talk to about his homeland.

“ _Selena and I were never bosom companions,” Odin says, resentment tinging his voice. “However, she was the only living soul who shares the firsthand knowledge of the glorious land of our birth.”_

Odin begins to tell Xander more about Ylisse, although most of his stories involve Laslow. Odin tells him stories from their childhood together, from their adolescence, of their escape from a fallen world, of reuniting with versions of their parents who were not yet their parents. It is almost unbelievable, but Odin is a good storyteller, and Xander cannot help but be drawn in.

Xander notices that all of Odin’s stories conveniently omit Selena, but he does not bring it up.

On Laslow’s birthday, the first since his death, Odin and Xander shirk their duties for a full evening and pay tribute to Laslow in the ways of their homeland. In Nohr, it is customary to pour ale on the ground to honor fallen comrades who have returned to the earth, and Odin and Xander do so, pouring Laslow’s favorite ale from a nearby tavern into the earth in the far corner of the Nohrian gardens, where Odin tells him Laslow used to go to practice dancing.

In Ylisse, Odin tells him, every region has their own customs, but in the dark timeline that he and Laslow had been born into, he and his friends had created their own traditions to honor their dead parents, writing wishes and memories of the deceased on paper and setting it aflame. Odin invites Xander to join in, and Xander writes _I’m sorry you did not get the chance to grow old._  and _I hope that you are smiling, wherever you are._ Odin writes something in his native language and does not offer to translate. 

They cast their slips into the fireplace in Xander’s chambers, and as the papers curl up and burn, Odin chants something softly in a language that Xander does not understand. 

Afterwards, Odin translates an entry from Laslow’s diary for him. Odin rarely shares anything that Laslow wrote, but this is a special occasion, and he makes an exception, reading part of the entry that Laslow had written on his birthday the year prior.

_It is so interesting to celebrate birthdays the Nohrian way. I feel as if I have grown quite accustomed (perhaps a bit too much so) to the Nohrian way of life, but celebrations always remind me of my past. It was very funny to see Odin confuse the lyrics to the Nohrian birthday song! We don’t sing any songs to celebrate birthdays in Ylisse, so of course he wouldn’t know them. Luckily, the Nohrians all think Odin is strange anyway, so he can get away with much more than I can and no one will think twice about it._

_Even though I feel quite homesick thinking about the pastries mother used to make on my birthday back home, the day was quite nice overall. Xander gave me the day off from my duties, although the free time came with the stipulation that I spend it with him rather than going off to the tavern to “terrorize the local ladies,” in his words. He seemed rather awkward about it, which is endearing. I do not mind having to spend the day with him; in fact, it is a privilege. I can get rejected by women any time, but I do not often get the chance to spend time with my liege in that manner._

_It appears that Xander did not think about what to do beyond spending time together, and he looked quite embarrassed when I brought it up. He is so proper and composed all the time, so it is quite rewarding to see him flustered! I have often wondered what he would look like if I tried one of my pick-up lines on him-as a joke, of course. But alas, as much as I long to see him blush, I do not think that would be a good idea._

_But I am getting distracted. Since Xander seemed to have no plans, I asked him to teach me how to play chess. He seemed amazed that I did not know how, but I couldn’t tell him that we don’t have chess in my homeworld. Instead, I claimed that I don’t have a head for games and never learned, which is true. I am terrible at games, unlike Odin, the lucky bastard. Chess is not entirely dissimilar to some games we play back home, but I have always been abysmal at those too. I cannot say that I will ever be good at chess, but seeing Xander try to maintain his patience in the face of my ineptitude was quite touching._

_After we played, Xander gave me some small gifts. My favorite among them is an earring that looks like the horn of an animal. Very few Nohrian men have pierced ears, so most of the earrings they sell here are very feminine. I can’t imagine how Xander came to acquire this one, because I’ve never seen anything like it. It is simple, but obviously high quality, and not to flatter myself, but I think it suits me quite well._

_Xander also gave me another one of those hideous shirts that he claims are fashionable here in Nohr. If those are fashionable, then Nohr does not understand what fashion is. Of course I will wear it because it is a gift from my lord, but I may choose to wear it at a time when not many ladies are there to see me. I swear, sometimes I wonder if milord does not want me to have any success with the women of Nohr..._

_The only bad thing about the day is that it reminded me of how increasingly torn I have become. I miss my mother and father dearly, as well as my friends and companions back in Ylisse, but I feel more and more reluctant at the idea of parting with Nohr, and I must admit it is because I serve a fine liege. I suspect Odin and Selena feels the same way, although we have never discussed it. Well, I suspect Selena feels the same way; I_ know _Odin does, given the intimate nature of his relationship with his liege and his fellow retainer._

_Ha. It is funny that despite the nature of Odin’s relationship with his liege, I am still reluctant to let him know of the deep and growing fondness that I have for my own..._

Odin closes the book and there are a million questions that Xander wants to ask, but he is afraid of some of the answers, so he chooses a safe one. 

“Did Laslow refer to you as Odin even in his journal?”

“No,” Odin says. “But since I am relaying the tale, I have the right to call myself  what I please. When I entered this world, I shed my old name and became Odin Dark, because I am consumed by the darkness inside my soul!”

“Sounds about right.” Xander says. “Does the darkness in your soul also command you to wear almost no clothes?”

"You are lucky that you are the king of Nohr. Most who dare to mock Odin Dark do not live to tell the tale!”

Xander laughs, and Odin joins in, and for a moment Xander almost imagines he can hear Laslow laughing with them.

That night Xander dreams of Laslow, and for once it is a good dream. Usually his dreams of Laslow are wrong somehow; if he looks like he did in life, his voice is unfamiliar. If his voice is familiar, his hair or his eyes are a different color. If everything else is right, then the way that dream-Laslow moves will be subtly wrong. Xander thinks that perhaps hearing Odin tell him things about Inigo may confuse him, every new piece of information revealing more about Inigo while obscuring something about Laslow. They are the same person, but sometimes it is hard to remember how they fit together. Xander finds that he is beginning to find it hard to picture Laslow as he was in life, and he fears that someday he will not be able to call up a memory of Laslow, will be left only with Odin’s stories.

But that night, that night Xander dreams of Laslow, wearing the shirt that Xander gave him, playing chess badly and laughing about it. In this dream Laslow does not die, and Xander does not want to wake up.

 

* * *

 

As months go by, Xander begins to finally adjust to being king of Nohr. His position no longer fits him loosely like his father’s coat did when he was a child playing dress-up; rather, it fits him as snugly as his armor and he wears it with as much confidence. It may not thrill him like the heat of battle, or fulfill him like leading his men into battle can, but he was born the crown prince of Nohr and with that came sacrifices that he did not choose to make; as with justice, he has come to terms with the realization that fulfillment is not for him.

The only part of kingship that does not eventually click into place is the fact that he only has one retainer. Xander had always anticipated that when he became king, it would be with Peri to his left and Laslow to his right. He feels Laslow’s loss as keenly as he felt his presence, and it knocks him off balance. When they first placed the crown on his head, the weight of it almost brought him to his knees. 

When Xander first began to study swordplay at the tender young age of six, his teacher was a grizzled knight who was a veteran of one war and countless smaller skirmishes. He had lost his dominant right hand years ago, and rather than retiring he learned how to fight with his left and went on to defeat hundreds of men who had the advantage of two hands.

Xander, still too young to fully understand social conventions about what was acceptable to ask, had immediately peppered him with questions about what it was like to lose a limb. 

_“Does it hurt?” Xander asked, eyes wide. “Can I see the stump? Did you see the bone when it got cut off?”_

_“You ask too many questions, kid-...I mean, Prince.” The man had replied, gruff but patient, holding out his right arm to show Xander.  
_

_It was not much too look at, just skin and a long scar where they had sewn the wound together. Xander could not articulate why, but it made him uneasy, more because of what was not there than because of what was._

_“To answer your other question, no, it doesn’t hurt much nowadays. Although it hurt like a b-...hurt like a dog when it happened.” He told Xander, shaking his head slightly. “But sometimes, when I first wake up or when I forget that it happened, I can feel my hand as if it’s still there. I can flex my fingers, I can make a fist, I can feel the cool morning air. It feels so real that sometimes I don’t remember that it’s gone until I try to pick something up. It hurts then, sometimes, but that may just be disappointment.”  
_

_It’s unsettling to see the distant look in the older man’s eyes, and Xander almost regrets asking._

He hadn’t been able to fully comprehend what the man was talking about back then, but now he thinks he understands. Sometimes when his mind is caught up elsewhere and too busy to feel the Laslow-shaped hold in his life, he forgets that Laslow is gone. He’ll find himself walking towards Laslow’s old chambers, a story that he wants to tell him fresh on his mind. 

Of course, when he opens the doors, Laslow is not there. No one is there, because the rooms are meant for one of Xander’s retainers and Xander has not chosen a replacement, refuses to choose another retainer to fight and die for him. 

Phantom limb pain is what his swordplay teacher had called the sensation he had described. Physically, Xander has all of his limbs, but he cannot shake the feeling of phantom Laslow pain.

He invokes the same comparison when Leo advises him to choose another retainer. 

_“Brother, I know that you still mourn Laslow, but you should take another retainer.” Leo tells him, eminently practical. “You’re the king of Nohr now, and it is customary to have two retainers, not to mention safer.”_

_“I appreciate your concern Leo, but this is not your choice to make.” He has only been king for a matter of weeks, but he has already perfected his royal decree voice, reasonable and utterly firm. “If Odin or Niles died, would you be able to replace them?”  
_

_“That is irrelevant, as they aren’t dead and I am not the king of Nohr _._ ” Leo sounds as indifferent as ever, but he looks unsettled. “ _Unless they are relevant to our kingdom, _I do not deal in hypotheticals.”__  
_

___Leo has never been able to admit that he is wrong, so Xander does not make him._ _ _

___“If a person loses their right hand, the stump may heal but the hand never grows back.” Xander says. “Thank you for looking out for me, but I know what I am doing.”  
_ _ _

___Leo nods, and turns to go. Before he reaches the door, he hesitates, turns back to face Xander._ _ _

___“Xander.” Leo starts, choosing his words carefully. “I hope you know that I am here for you, not as a prince supporting a king, but as a brother supporting a brother.”  
_ _ _

___Xander crosses the distance between them and embraces him. Leo tenses for a moment before returning the embrace and Xander realizes that it has been years since they last hugged._ _ _

 

* * *

 

Six months after the war, Xander receives an invitation delivered personally by Kaze to Ryoma’s wedding to Orochi. Xander knows marriages are supposed to be happy occasions, but he can’t help feeling like he should offer his condolences.

The wedding is big news in Hoshido, Kaze tells them, smile slightly pinched, and Ryoma hopes they they can all attend.

_“That’s strange.” Camilla says as soon as Kaze leaves the room. “I’m almost certain that Orochi and Kagero are lovers. Or at least they were when we were fighting together.”_

_“It’s a political marriage.” Leo says. “Obviously.”_

_“Orochi is only the former retainer of his stepmother. What political benefit does marrying her have?” Camilla wonders._

_“Ryoma is young and somewhat impulsive.” Xander reasons. “Orochi was Queen Mikoto’s retainer, and she was a much loved ruler. Perhaps the people of Hoshido feel that Orochi’s experience at court can help Ryoma mature and rule with wisdom.”_

_“Or maybe it’s just a cover-up for some illicit relationship that would ruin Ryoma if it got out.” Leo adds._

_“Don’t be so cynical!” Elise scolds. “Maybe they’re in love. Marriage is a beautiful thing and we should celebrate that our friend is getting married.”_

_“Speaking of which, dear brother,” Camilla turns to Xander. “Have you considered when you are going to marry?”_

_“Never.” Xander says, voice surer than he feels._

_Leo looks concerned. “Good luck with that, brother.” He says, halfway between skepticism and sincerity._

Political marriages are nothing unusual in Hoshido or Nohr, but Xander holds out the tiniest bit of hope that Ryoma is marrying for love. He and Orochi make a strange pair, but he desperately wants Ryoma to defy the everpresent specter of marriage as a political tool that’s been hanging over him since childhood.

The marriage is surprisingly soon, which only adds to Xander’s curiosity about the reason for their marriage. They have just enough time to arrange for adequate security both in Nohr and with the Nohrian siblings. Technically, they shouldn’t all leave Nohr at the same time, but none of them are willing to miss the wedding. ( _“Are you excited to see Takumi?” Elise asks Leo.  “I anticipate that we will bicker constantly.” Leo smiles, wickedly. “I am looking forward to it immensely.”_ )

Traditionally, they should leave at least one of their retainers in Nohr in their stead, but none of the retainers really inspire confidence in the Nohrian people, so instead they Leave Gunter and an army of political advisors in charge and hope for the best.

It is strange to be back in Hoshido for the first time since Ryoma’s coronation. The country appears to be thriving, and Xander feels yet another pang of guilt about the devastation his father’s actions and his own compliance had wreaked upon Hoshido and its people.

Although he and Ryoma are very different people, they bonded during the war over their similar feelings of duty and pride as crown princes of their respective country, and Ryoma invites Xander to dine with him privately the night that they arrive.

They eat a simple meal in Ryoma’s quarters, which are spacious and painfully messy. They talk about life at their respective courts, commiserate about the boring political events they are forced to endure, and compare assassination attempts. Xander does not broach the topic of Ryoma’s impending marriage, waiting for Ryoma to bring it up, but Ryoma ever does.

Instead, Ryoma hits on the one topic that Xander does not want to discuss.

“Have you chosen another retainer yet?”

“No.” Xander says, hoping that will shut down the conversation.

It doesn’t.

“How are you coping with your loss? I cannot imagine running Hoshido without both Saizo and Kagero, without either of them I would be dead twice over.”

“So, are you looking forward to married life?” Xander changes the subject abruptly.

Ryoma looks uncomfortable. “Of course. Orochi is a fine woman and she will be a fine queen.”

Luckily, the awkward atmosphere is interrupted by Saizo entering.

“Milord,” He says, not sparing a single glance at Xander. “I apologize for interrupting, but the new archduke of Izumo has just arrived and is asking for you.”

“Thank you Saizo.” Ryoma glances at Xander apologetically. “I am sorry that our dinner must be cut short, and I hope that we can continue this conversation later. Saizo, could you bring me my gloves?”

“I already did, milord.”

Saizo procures the gloves, but instead of handing them to Ryoma, he puts them on Ryoma’s hands himself, handling them with a tenderness Xander did not think Saizo was capable of. Just before Saizo draws his hands away, Ryoma clasps them in his own, briefly, and Xander feels suddenly like he is intruding upon an intimate moment.

“Your marriage is a sham.” He finds himself saying.

Ryoma and Saizo tense as one, suddenly very aware that Xander is still in the room. Xander thinks that it must be his imagination, but he thinks he sees sparks crackling along Saizo’s skin.

Ryoma raises a hand, and Saizo steps back, crackling in the air subsiding.

“I thought that you, of all people, would understand.” Ryoma says, words hard.

“I thought that I would as well.” Xander replies. “Perhaps if Laslow were still alive, I would have.”

They stare at each other for several moments, no one moving.

Finally Xander breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, my friend. That was uncalled for. There is no shame in what you are doing, and it is not my place to judge. I let me personal injuries cloud my judgement.”

Ryoma relaxes, although Saizo remains taut as a bowstring. “Saizo, tell the archduke that I will be with him shortly.”

“Milord.” Saizo bows and disappears, but not before sharing an intense look with Ryoma.

“You’re right. My marriage is a sham, but what can I do?” Ryoma says. “Hoshido is in a more tenuous position than it has been for years, and many people still doubt my ability to rule. If I were to publicly take my retainer as a lover, it would throw the country into chaos. Hoshido is still a conservative country in many way.”

“I understand.” Xander begins, but Ryoma holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I feel the need to explain myself. Please.” He says. “Orochi is a close friend good choice for the queen due to her ties to Mikoto and her experience in court. She is also Kagero’s lover. I do not know how the castle is laid out in Nohr, but my retainers have chambers adjoining to mine. In public Orochi and I will be King and Queen, but in private we can return to our true partners.”

“Your statement cut me because it rang true. This marriage is a political arrangement, and I feel guilty for it because Saizo, Orochi, and Kagero are all making sacrifices for me.”

“And what of you?” Xander asks. “What of the sacrifice that you are making?”

“I never had a choice about whether to make that sacrifice.” Ryoma answers. “But the three of them did, and they chose to do so for me. I must honor their sacrifice by ruling Hoshido well, without resentment for my situation.”

“My friend,” Xander says. “I think you may have eclipsed me in wisdom.”

Ryoma laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far. Now, I must go speak with the archduke, but I hope to speak with you again later. Maybe we can steal some time to spar. I miss sparring against partners of your caliber.”

Xander smiles. “I look forward to it.”

The ceremony is long and ornate, and it would be beautiful if Xander was not preoccupied by thinking about Saizo and Kagero crouched up in the rafters, scanning the crowd for threats as they watch their lovers marry other people.

Xander wonders if he were in Ryoma’s situation, if he would be strong enough to do what Ryoma did. Or even more importantly, if he would be strong enough to refuse.

At the receptions, the new archduke of Izumo, who appears to have inherited the utter lack of boundaries of his predecessor, corners him and asks him if there are wedding bells in his future.

“I have decided to focus on my position as King of Nohr for the time being.” Xander says, putting on his obviously-fake smile he reserves for diplomatic occasions. “The kingdom of Nohr is my first priority.”

“Oh, but having a wife to support you could help ease your burden as king.” The archduke says, and Xander swears he sees the man wink. “Think about it.”

“Ah, well I usually don’t like to talk about this.” Xander says, mouth working faster than his brain. “But I do not see marriage in my future for a very long time. You see, I fell in love with a girl when I was away in the war. She was the sister of my brother Leo’s retainer, Odin. A Cyrkensian dancer, with pink hair and lavender eyes, as charming as she was lovely. She danced even though she was shy about people watching her, and she could put a smile on anyone’s face.”

“And what happened to this lovely woman?” The archduke says.

“She died.” Xander. “She was killed during the destruction of Cyrkensia during the war. I still grieve for her, and I could not possibly dishonor her memory by considering marriage to another.”

The archduke looks at him appraisingly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Xander does not know what possessed him to tell such a boldfaced lie, but it does the job. The archduke leaves him alone and no one else asks him about marriage.

“So,” Odin tells him in passing in between bouts on the dance floor. “I hear that you’re avoiding marriage because of your doomed romance with a Cyrkensian dancer?”

“Yes, something like that.” Xander says.  

 

* * *

 

 

Although Xander is now a king, he still finds his outlet on the battlefield. Logically speaking, the king of Nohr should not ride on the front lines with his men; to be sure, Garon never did. But Xander rationalizes that a good kind leads his men by example, on the battlefield and in the capitol. Besides, as long as at least one of the Nohrian siblings remain safely at court, there shouldn’t be a problem. He has three siblings for a reason, and if he did not get to swing his sword in a real battle from time to time, he might explode. 

Battles are the only time that Xander can pretend that he is simply Xander and not the king of Nohr, and he treasures them accordingly. To be fair, he is conflicted about the fact that he feels the most at ease when his actions are taking the lives of others, but at this point, he has so much baggage that he could unpack but chooses not to that adding a little bit more is no big deal.

This time it is a group of mercenaries who have been trying to incite a peasant rebellion in the south of Nohr. Xander dislikes peasant rebellions the most, because more often than not the rebels have a reason for their discontent, and he feels guilty for striking them down. He has tried diplomacy several times, but every time it has failed. Perhaps it is Garon’s legacy haunting him, as Garon had given the common people no cause to trust the word of a king, or perhaps it is Xander’s own failings. Regardless, the fact remains that words had failed and they had chosen to resort to raising their weapons against their own people. 

Even in a battle like this, where Xander knows their cause is unjust, he cannot help but feel as if he can think more clearly than he can at any other time. The mercenary group is strong, and fighting them is a worthy challenge. If Xander frees his mind from the circumstances of their battle, it is simply exhilarating. It is an art form, leaving your cares behind, and Xander has worked to perfect it. As he rides, he narrows his focus, until only his sword, his horse, and his target remain in his view. And it works; he is a terror on the battlefield, not because he is the king of Nohr, but because he is a skilled swordsman in his own right, and much more fearless than he has any right to be. He cuts a swathe through their ranks, Peri carving out a parallel line, gleeful in her bloodlust.

Suddenly, Xander sees a ghost.

Most of the mercenaries have fallen or fled, but one of the ones who remain fights in a familiar style, light glinting off a sword he thought he’d never see again.

Xander’s brain continues to operate on autopilot, but rather than bear down on this man with his sword, he finds himself lowering Seigfried as he races towards the man, dismounting to get a closer look. 

The man’s eyes widen as Xander rushes towards him and he barely has time to lower his sword before Xander is upon him, crushing him in a hard embrace. The point of Laslow’s sword nicks his thigh, and Xander welcomes the pain because it means that he is not dreaming.

“Laslow!” Xander exclaims, voice hoarse. “I thought you were dead.”

Still shocked, Laslow tentatively puts his arms around Xander in return. “For a while, I thought I was too.”

Xander pulls back, hands on Laslow’s arms, inspecting his face to ensure that it is real. “Laslow, Inigo, how did you survive? What are you doing now? Why didn’t you come back to me? I mean, back to the capital”

Laslow answers with a question of his own. “What did you just call me?”

Xander is confused for a moment. He has become so used to Laslow being dead, of calling him Laslow and Inigo and speaking freely about him because he is not there to object that he did not realize that he had used two names. “What?”

“Milord. You called me Inigo.” Laslow grips Xander’s biceps hard, scared without knowing exactly why.

“Oh. So I did. I apologize Laslow, I was just so shocked to see you...alive.” Xander pauses for a moment, caught up in staring at Laslow’s face, feeling his skin under his hands, warm and very much alive. “We can talk about everything back in the capital.”

Laslow would like nothing more than to return with Xander, to never leave Xander’s side, but he finds himself saying. “Milord, I am under contract.”

“With this mercenary group?” When Laslow nods, Xander chuckles darkly. “Laslow, I believe that Peri is releasing you from your contract right now.”

Laslow looks around, suddenly aware of  the bloodshed happening around their reunion. Almost all of mercenaries are dead or gone, the few remaining about to be dispatched by the Nohrian forces. Laslow should feel grief at  the deaths of his recent travelling companions, but all he can do is sag into Xander’s arms. 

Xander holds him upright, arms tightening around him in concern. “Laslow, are you alright?”

Laslow nods weakly, into Xander’s chest. “I am now, milord.”

Xander’s brain is a mess and his heart is threatening to jump out of his chest, but he manages to get himself and Laslow onto his horse and return to the rest of the Nohrian forces. Laslow appears to be almost in shock, and Xander feels almost the same, still not entirely convinced that this is not an apparition.

“You’re not dead.” He finds himself repeating. “You’re not dead, Laslow.”

“No,” Laslow says. “At least, not last time I checked.”

When they reach the main forces, they are quickly surrounded by Nohrian soldiers who are confused about why their king dismounted and embraced an enemy soldier. Many of them recognize Laslow, and murmurs of shock and confusion run through the ranks.

“Enough.” Xander says, raising his voice and using his most regal tone. “Now is not the time for gossip. Now is the time to set up camp, and tomorrow we will return to the palace.”

His men quickly set about erecting tents and unpacking supplies, but the air of curiosity remains. Xander keeps Laslow by his side as he oversees their work, hand resting lightly on his back as if to reassure himself that Laslow will not disappear.

When Xander’s tent is set up, he pulls Laslow inside and sets about lighting a fire, struggling to light the kindling as he struggles to figure out what to say. He’s spent over a year now talking to and about Laslow in his head, and yet now with Laslow here, he feels as if he is talking to a stranger.

The kindling catches and Xander seats himself on the ground next to Laslow. He tries to start a sentence three times, before finally managing a, “How?”

“Well,” Laslow begins, and the voice is so familiar that Xander almost cries. “It turns out that the bottomless canyon is not the only canyon that does not kill the people who fall into it. I still don’t know exactly what happened when I fell, only that I came to in a strange and distant part of Valla, badly injured and completely lost.” 

“I probably would have died of blood loss if a travelling merchant had not happened to find me. He took me back to his village and I spent months there recovering. It seems that the arrow that hit me had some sort of poison on it. I did not die, but I was wracked with fever for weeks and very weak for weeks after that. I spent days on a cot, hallucinating and, it appeared to the Vallites, speaking in tongues.” Laslow pauses. “You called me Inigo, so I’m assuming that you know that I’m originally from somewhere much further than I claimed, and we speak a different language there.”

Xander nods. “Odin told me.”

“I guessed as much. I suppose I’m glad, because that means I don’t have to figure out how to tell you I’m from another world.” Laslow continues his story. “I spent several more months in Valla, working as a mercenary to repay my debt to the family who took care of me when I was sick and to save money to journey back to Nohr. Unfortunately, most Vallites don’t know how to leave Valla, and it took quite some effort to figure out how to return. I eventually found my way back aboveground, but at a place very far away from the Nohrian capital, so I joined up with this mercenary group to earn money and travel in the right direction. I was trying to make my way back to you, milord, but I did not expect that our meeting would be on the battlefield.”

“Neither did I, Laslow.” Xander says, unconsciously moving closer to Laslow. “But I also did not expect to meet you at all.”

“I hope that it was a good surprise?” Laslow’s voice is teasing, but also just the slightest bit uncertain, as if he is unsure how to behave around Xander.

“Of course it is, it’s just...” Xander pauses, trying to think of how to say what he is thinking. “You don’t know how long I have grieved for you, Laslow. I do not blame you for it, but I wish that I had been spared that grief.”

“I’m sorry.” Laslow says. “I wish you had been as well.”

“There is nothing that you need to apologize for.” Xander says. “As long as you do not die on me again now that I have you back.”

“I don’t plan on it.” Laslow says. “So tell me, milord. What has happened in my absence?”

“Well, obviously, I am the king of Nohr. The kingdom is at peace, relatively speaking. Odin and I are friends now, and he’s told me several embarrassing stories about your childhood. Selena has disappeared and Camilla has not chosen another retainer.” Xander looks at Laslow. “I have not chosen a new retainer either.”

“Milord, are...” Laslow hesitates. “Are you married?”

“No.” Xander says. “I remain entirely unmarried.”

“Good.” Laslow says.

Xander raises an eyebrow and Laslow trips over his words. “I mean, it would be strange if you were married because that would be a big difference! I am glad to see the world has only changed but so much in my absence.”

Xander thinks, but does not say, that his world had changed, but it has changed around Laslow’s absence, the future reshaping itself around the hole in his life that Laslow had occupied.

They have an extra tent, several extra tents, but Xander does not mention them and Laslow does not ask. Laslow sleeps in Xander’s bedroll and Xander lies in the extra bedroll, not sleeping because he feels too full, and is halfway convinced that if he falls asleep Laslow will not be there when he wakes up.

 

* * *

 

 

Laslow is there when he wakes up. He is there to say good morning and there when they eat a quick breakfast together, there to help Xander pack up his tent. Evidence would suggest that he is not, in fact, going to disappear again, but Xander is not taking any chances.

“I don’t think you’ve let Laslow out of your sight since he came back.” Peri tells them, still ecstatic about his reappearance.

“Had I?” Xander says, ignoring Laslow’s curious look. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He had noticed, and he does not plan to let Laslow out of his sight. Luckily, Laslow seems to have the same idea, and he trails Xander like a shadow, does not protest when Xander suggests they share a horse on the ride back to the castle.

As they ride, Xander is torn between wanting to say everything and not knowing what to say, and he falls somewhere in the middle, asking questions seemingly out of nowhere.

“Laslow.” He says, trying to sound casual despite the thick tension that has been in the air since he first saw Laslow. “Why did you come back?”

“At first,” Laslow sighs, and Xander feels it where Laslow’s back is pressed against his chest. “I was not sure that I would. I always knew I had to choose between who would mourn my loss: my family in Ylisse or my comrades in Nohr. My apparent death seemed to make that decision for me, as you were already under the assumption that I was dead.”

“When I finally left Valla, I traveled first to the place where Odin, Selena, and I planned to meet to return to our world. As luck would have it, I ran into Selena.”

“How was she?” Xander asks. “Did she realize that she broke my sister’s heart?”

Laslow nods. “She knows, and it broke her own heart as well.”

“Then why did she leave?” Xander has never understood Selena, and he does not expect that he will start now, but he owes it to Camilla to ask.

“Selena is...complicated. She felt that it was her duty to return home, and sacrificing her own feelings to do so would prove her worth. I think she also believed that if she stayed, Camilla would have eventually gotten tired of her, but if she leaved, Camilla would never forget her.” Laslow shakes his head. “Selena has always had strange ideas about the workings of the human heart.”

“Odin told me that he and Selena fought before she left, because he refused to go with her.”

“Yes. She was angry because he made the choice that she wished she could make, and in doing so, left her to bear the burden of returning with bad news alone. But by the time I found her, her anger had burned itself out.”

“And you,” Xander pauses, presses on. “you planned to go with her?”

“Yes.” Laslow says. “If I was already presumed dead in Nohr, I thought it would be simpler, and that I would not have to make the choice that weighed so heavily on Selena and Odin. But then Selena told me how deeply my death had affected you. She said that you had not chosen a new retainer, and although you were a good king, it seemed as if some part of you had been taken away.”

Laslow sounds tentative, afraid that Xander is going to deny it.

Xander does not. “She spoke truly.”

“Well,” Laslow pauses to gather his thoughts. “faced with the final chance to make my own decision, I found myself unable to go, unable to...leave you.”

Xander says nothing, tightens his arms around Laslow’s waist.

“Selena agreed to tell Odin’s and my parents that we were alive and well, working in the service of noble masters. And I turned away from one home and headed towards another.”

“Thank you.” Xander says, not specifying what he is thanking Laslow for because there are too many things.

The tension leaves Laslow’s shoulders and they ride in silence the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

 

When they return, his siblings are waiting to welcome him home with their retainers. They have barely ridden into view when they hear a great booming shout and see a figure racing towards him.

“Odin!” Laslow shouts in return, and Xander urges the horse forward to meet them.

As soon as Laslow dismounts, Odin flies at him, knocking him to the ground in a fierce embrace.

“In- Laslow of the indigo skies!” Odin exclaims, “I have always thought I was the chosen one, but it is you who have returned from the cold embrace of death! You are truly the chosen one!”

In a quieter voice, he adds, “I missed you, buddy.”

“I missed you too, Odin.” Laslow says, smiling so wide it looks like his face might break.

Murmurs of astonishment and excitement come from the onlookers, and Xander looks up just in time to see Camilla’s eyes flash as she turns away and walks into the castle, Beruka on her heels.

It stings, but Xander does not blame her. He has regained a retainer he thought he had lost, and she had lost a retainer she thought she would always have. As with all wounds, it will heal with time.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of excitement and joyous reunions. Elise cajoles the chefs into cooking an impromptu feast in Laslow’s honor, and Xander only just manages to talk her out of holding an impromptu ball.

The majority of the castle gets incredibly drunk at dinner, and just as Odin begins another one of his stories of valor and achievement, Laslow tugs on Xander’s sleeve and asks if they can slip away. Xander, relieved, agrees.

The combination of the readily flowing alcohol and Odin’s antics mean that almost no one notices them leave, save Leo, who nods his approval.

They return to Xander’s chambers and Xander is suddenly very aware that he has no plan and is no idea what is going on. He is saved from having to figure it out when he notices Laslow staring at the corner of his room that has been devoted to Laslow’s belongings since his “death.”

“You kept my things.” Laslow says, looking surprised.

“I did.” Xander says, embarrassed. “Although I thought you were dead, but I could not bear to dispose of your belongings, so I kept them in my chambers. I apologize for the invasion of your privacy.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Milord.” Laslow says, smiling. “As long as I can have them back now that I am alive again.”

“Of course.” 

Laslow walks over to inspect his things, sifting through the clothing and trinkets. 

“Milord,” Laslow says, concerned. “Did there happen to be a book with my belongings?”

“Ah.” Xander replies, reluctant to give him the answer. “Yes. I may have given that to Odin. I could not read it anyway and he was very insistent.”

Laslow peers at him, assessing whether he is telling the truth. “Very well, I will have to take it up with him in that case. Did he happen to translate any of it for you?”

“Almost none.” Xander reassures him. “Only a small part about how ugly the shirt I gave you for your birthday was.”

Laslow flushes. “Ah, well. I may have been exaggerating slightly. It’s a very nice shirt.”

“Nohrians are not known for their fashion sense, Laslow.” Xander says, amused. “I am not offended.”

Laslow continues to take stock of his belongings, comes upon the half-empty bottle of cologne. “Milord, do you know why my cologne appears to have been used?”

“I have no idea.” Xander lies, utterly unconvincing.

Laslow laughs merrily, pulls out something black and shimmery.

“Oh.” He gasps. “You have my dancer’s outfit.”

“Yes.” Xander says. “To be honest, I did not realize it was yours at first, but Odin told me it was typical for male dancers in your homeland. He said that he has never seen you wear it though, and has never seen you dance.”

“Nobody in this world has ever seen me dance, and very few in my home world.” Laslow says, staring transfixed at the fabric.

“May I see?” The words are out of Xander’s mouth before he can think them through, and he immediately wishes he could take them back.

Laslow jerks his gaze from the clothes to Xander’s face, shocked. “What?”

“I’m sorry Laslow, I know that dancing is very personal to you, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable by asking you to share that with me.” Xander desperately tries to backpedal. “I apologize for the request; it was rash, and you may disregard it.”

“No.” Laslow shakes his head, suddenly determined. “No, I want to show you. Wait here.”

Laslow disappears into Xander’s washroom and Xander is suddenly filled with anticipation, excitement, fear, and a feeling that he cannot name.

After a few minutes, Laslow emerges, hands twitching as if it is an effort not to cover himself and Xander drinks him in. He is a beautiful sight; the softness of the outfit accentuates his slender lines without taking away from his strength. The fact that the outfit is revealing highlights the tones muscles of his arms and chest, and Xander is utterly transfixed.

“There was an earring that went with it.” Laslow says, fidgeting. “But I couldn’t find it.”

Xander is not sure he remembers what an earring is, his entire mind filled with nothing but Laslow. “Even without it, you look...” He pauses, searching for the right word. “ravishing.” He finishes, and Laslow’s blush spreads from his cheeks down to his neck.

“Thank you, milord.” Laslow says. “Ummm, I usually dance without music, if that is alright with you?”

Xander sits on the edge of his bed, unable to take his eyes off Laslow. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”

“Well, I’d be most comfortable if you closed your eyes, but I suppose that would defeat the purpose.” Laslow laughs nervously. “Ok. Here I go.”

He starts moving slowly, the only sound his footfalls on Xander’s floor and the swishing of the fabric. His style of dancing is unlike any dancers Xander has seen from Nohr, Cyrkensia, Hoshido, or anywhere else on the continent. He barely notices that there is no music, mesmerized by every spin and twirl.

Like his costume, Laslow’s dancing combines his softness and his strength, and as he watches, Xander feels like he is seeing Laslow clearly for the first time, all the things he knows and has learned about Laslow and Inigo falling into place with every flick of Laslow’s wrists. As Laslow dances, he feels a fierce surge of protectiveness and pride and _love_ for the man in front of him, strong enough to take his breath away.

Laslow finishes his dance, standing in his final pose in the middle of Xander’s floor, breathing hard and utterly vulnerable as the confidence he had while dancing flows out of him, replaced by nervous hope.

“What,” Laslow stops, catches his breath. “What did you think?”

As if he is not in full possession of his own body, Xander rises, crosses the distance between them in two large steps, cups Laslow’s cheeks with his hands, feeling the heat of his blush under his palms.

Xander’s feelings for Laslow are like a river that he’s been trying to dam up for years, since before Laslow ‘died,’ but even the strongest dam can only hold for so long.

“You,” Xander says, voice rough and low. “are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

Laslow’s breath hitches.

The dam breaks and Xander kisses Laslow with all the force of a flash flood.

Laslow kisses back, clinging to Xander like he is in danger of being swept away.

“Why me?” Laslow manages between kisses, as Xander pulls him back onto the bed.

“Because,” Xander starts, pauses to kiss Laslow again, long and deep. “Losing you showed me that you are the one person I cannot bear to lose.”

“You never will.” Laslow promises, rashly and earnestly, and kisses him again.

Xander does not know how long they kiss, because there is too much kissing to do to waste time with thinking. He kisses Laslow’s forehead, his nose, his neck, and when Laslow laughs at how that tickles, he kisses the dimples that appear before moving back to his lips. Xander thinks, recklessly, that he could kiss Laslow for hundreds of years, one year for every day that he thought Laslow was dead, and still not grow tired of it.

Laslow’s hands reach for his shirt buttons and he asks, “May I?”

Xander nods permission and Laslow divests him of his shirt in record time, running his hands over Xander’s chest and abs with an air of almost reverence.

In their questing, Laslow’s hands find Xander’s necklaces. “Is this my earring?” He whispers in Xander’s ear, lips brushing his ear with every word.

“Yes,” Xander says, too giddy to be embarrassed, helping Laslow shrug off his vest. “I wore it to keep your memory close to my heart. Do you want it back?”

“No,” Laslow says, running his finger over the earring and the skin underneath, cool metal contrasting with warm flesh. “I like the thought of you keeping me close.”

“I fully intend to keep you,” Xander pulls Laslow down so he is lying on top of him, steals another kiss, “incredibly close from this point on. And when I do give you a ring, I want it to be special, not me returning your own earring to you.”

Laslow props himself up with his arms, looking down at Xander. “Milord, you take my breath away.”

Laslow’s bangs fall into his eyes and Xander reaches up, gently pushes them back. “Call me Xander, Laslow.”

“Xander,” Laslow breathes softly. “You take my breath away.”

Laslow leans down to kiss him again and Xander flips him onto his back, kisses a line down his chest and loses himself in Laslow’s quiet gasps and soft hands tangled in his hair.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when they are lying together, naked and satiated, Laslow nestled in the crook of Xander’s arm, Laslow asks, in a small voice. “Do you want me to leave now? I can go back to my own chambers.”

Xander looks at Laslow in disbelief, pull him closer. “Laslow, I do not want you to leave ever.”

“Oh? Truly?” Laslow’s hair is a mess, voice hoarse and pupils blown, and he is the most beautiful thing Xander has ever laid eyes on.

“I told you once that it is not your company I require. Only that you continue to draw breath.” Xander says. “I still do not _require_ your company, but I must admit that selfishly, my greatest desire is that you never leave my side again.”

“In that case,” Laslow says, lazily curling his fingers around the earring lying on Xander’s chest. “I assure you that I never will.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, if anyone made it through the 15,000+ words of that, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it! I'm not 150% satisfied with the ending, but that's always how it is, and I may come back and do some editing passes later on.
> 
> As always, I live for comments of any kind, and I've been writing this fic in bits and pieces for the better part of the month of February; this fic is kind of my baby, so please, be kind. 
> 
> (Also, as a sidenote: I think this is the most dialogue I've ever written in a fic, and I'm pretty fucking proud of myself for it.)
> 
> (Second sidenote/fun fact: The bit about Xander and Peri taking out half the battlefield and then almost dying til the healers catch up is a reference to how I play certain chapters in Fates. I'm trying to get them up to level 15 so they can pass on Aegis but it's pretty hard when they get 1 EXP per kill...)


End file.
